Winemaker of the North

Chapter 1

Moonlight cast a thin shadow across the floor as a cold night wind rustled Sviska’s cape. He had been silent since ascending the stairwell of the keep, sneaking past numerous men patrolling the halls. The highest level had proved the least guarded, but getting past the last two men without them seeing him was impossible.
Sviska would take only a few seconds, emerging from the shadows moving under bleak torchlight, to be within range. The hour was late and the guards were tired. Within only a few strides from his targets, he went from a sneaking pace to a sprint before leaping into the larger one, driving his dagger into his neck. Turning to the second man, he was surprised when he dropped his spear and cowered, putting his hands out in a motion begging for mercy. A poor guard for his charge in the keep. Sviska slashed his neck causing a bubbling red stream to run down the collapsing body. He glanced back down the hall as he caught and laid the man next to the first one. His killings had not gotten the attention of anyone else in the keep. He glanced at an image on the door before passing into the room, leaving their bodies outside. He would not tarry.
Through an open window across the room, he could hear the dogs barking and their frantic but pointless search.
One of the other bodies must have been found.
He was not surprised given he had to take the main road in and the city was already on high alert due to their rebellious state. He was sent to curb the lord of Tar Mena’s obedience to his masters. The lord had ignored other attempts at peace, and a lesson tonight would teach him to behave appropriately.
Sviska tiptoed forward. His boots made little noise as he passed across the darkened room. An image of a tree and two stars, as well as mention of a medallion worn by his target, accompanied the message that had ordered him from the desert of the south to this far northern wooded town. Upon the door of this very room, he saw the identical image.
A sleeping form awaited their death.
Stepping around a rocking chair and then onto a rug that ran before the canopied bed, he could see in the gleam of the moon a sheen metal upon the chest of the person. In the blankets, the person moved and something fell out of the bed, rolling into Sviska’s path. He stepped on it, looked down, and found a doll wearing a blue dress under his dark boots.
What is this?
He moved his hand from the hilt of his dagger and reached down to pick up the doll. Its stringy hair was caked with blood from the underside of his boot. The guard near the front gates had required additional silencing, and Sviska’s foot had worked well to quiet him.
He dropped the doll and then leaned over the bed. He had expected a woman or a man, but instead, wrapped in blankets and slightly snoring, he found a little girl sleeping. Her arm was above her head, and her hair fell down her face in braided strands.
Why a child? This cannot be.
However, the child was marked with the medallion as his task stated she would be. His masters would not take failure lightly. The Keepers, the assassins of the Order of men, were not allowed to choose to accept or not. They were to simply comply with the wishes of the Order.
His hand gripped his dagger, but his heart thudded and he shivered with chills. He could not draw blood from a child. What crime would a child be guilty of? He had no choice.
It was a moment later when the heavy thud of metal boots preceded the door to the room slamming open. A form appeared, holding a torch and a large hammer. It was a large man, taller than Sviska, and swift, much swifter than the veiled assassin expected.
Sviska went for his sword, sidestepping the arching blow from the hammer, which cracked into the floor just near the bed of the child. He tripped over the rocking chair and rolled toward the wall.
The man shouted out, “Guards! To the room of my daughter! I have found him!”
The child began screaming in a deafening pitch. The figure swung the war hammer again as Sviska made it back to his feet. The iron-spiked head of the hammer just missed him. He ran near the window edge, but the blow of the hammer came again, striking his sheath against the wall and forcing him around to face the man. Multiple guards entered the room, and Sviska felt behind him at the open air of the outside. He glanced down but saw nothing but the ground. He attempted again to draw his sword, but he could not. He gripped his dagger.
“I will help you out of my daughter’s room!” the man yelled before charging him.
He stepped forward, attempting to spin around his attacker, but found himself with the wooden handle of the war hammer against his neck and jaw. The back of his legs were against the bricks of the window. He struggled to push back, but the man had him. With a shout, the angered father of his victim pushed once more, forcing him over the ledge.
Sviska closed his eyes, feeling the wind around his body, awaiting his end that he deserved for his many tasks. He had become tired of his own deeds. The Order had become senseless in their targets, and now, after this one, he welcomed death. But that was not his fate.
He smashed into a cart of hay and grains, the sting on his back vibrating throughout his body. The muffled sound of shouting propelled him to get up. He rolled off the cart and struggled to keep his footing. He reached for his dagger but found it missing. Struggling to compose himself, he heard a voice shouting and a loud bell ringing.
“All guards to the keep! All guards to the keep!”